New Beginnings
by RebelGeneral
Summary: The Ranger returns to Nassau's shores, but Charles is nowhere to be found. One-shot, Eleanor's POV, set 5 years before the events of Season 1.


She'd been pacing around the office for what seemed like an eternity.

Forehead deeply furrowed and eyes squinted in worry, she kept looking out the window. She skimmed the brothel across, the camps and the bay, all that her eyes could reach.

 _Waiting._

Eleanor Guthrie was always restless, yet this was something else altogether. Thousands of images sprung to mind of what could have happened, each scenario as likely and horrible as the next one.

 _This wasn't like him_ , her mind reminded her. She ran this fact over repeatedly in her head, driving herself to the pits of her most darkest thoughts.

What the fuck could have happened out there?

He was always the first to jump ashore from the ship. The first to secure the cargo to her father's warehouse. The first to take leave of the captain and his duties. Not because he craved land or Nassau or anything the tavern or the whores could offer him.

But because he craved her.

It had become their ritual of sorts over the past year. He'd be gone for weeks at a time, but as soon as he'd land, he'd find her. It didn't matter where she was, at her father's office or in the marketplace or in the warehouse with Mr Scott, she could instantly feel him watching, his intense gaze burning into her. He never made a move to approach her, but rather waited in the background until she was done, until she was ready.

She should be used to it by now. But every time she saw him, she felt her heart leap into her throat, a strange excitement taking over with a sudden impatience for whatever was keeping her from him to end.

Sometimes, she suspected, Mr Scott made the dealings longer on purpose, his eyes all too knowingly shifting between the two of them, his features taut with obvious disapproval. But she only smiled back, hoping it was enough to pacify him.

As soon as the client left, she'd make a hefty excuse, never daring to look back at Mr Scott directly. She could neither offer him the hard truth nor have the heart to blatantly lie to him. Honesty was not a tool she could use anyway, not with him, because for Mr Scott to understand _this_ was near to impossible. He'd spent his entire life trying to protect her from men such as Charles, so to see her willingly give herself to him and not being able to convince her otherwise must be a fucking nightmare. If only he could have more faith in her, she sometimes reflected, maybe it wouldn't be so difficult.

Yet when she saw Charles, with his silent grin and his expectant eyes, all thoughts and previous aches of what Mr Scott or anybody else for that matter cared about vanished instantly. All that mattered was the feeling of his fingers intertwining with hers as she led them to their quiet place. All that mattered was the heat between their bodies as he collapsed against her. All that mattered was the hunger they sated from each other, each time more demanding and palpable than the one before.

And now, for the first time, there seemed to be no sign of him.

She heard the guard pause by the doorway. Turning, she instantly demanded,

"Did you hear anything? How long has it been?"

"Couple of hours, ma'am," he offered, "The Ranger is docked, the cargo unloaded already. I even saw some of the men in the brothel just now. Seems they've settled in."

 _Then where the fuck is he_ , her mind screamed.

"Ma'am, there seems to be an issue with the cargo, Mr Scott mentioned," he added hesitantly, "Apparently it's less than what his lead suggested it would offer. But the barrels are tinged with blood so something happened out there."

Her heart sank. No, it couldn't be. Brushing aside her dark assumptions, she posed the necessary question, her voice trembling,

"Any casualties?"

"It appears they lost some good men out there," he remarked, "Although the majority of the men from the prize decided to join in, so the ship's ranks have actually swelled as a result."

"W-Who...? Did you manage to find out?" she asked, her pupils wide with apprehension, insides already beginning to feel as though a huge rock had settled within.

"No Ma'am, you didn't give me specific instructions," he said, "But I can go down there again and find out for you."

She couldn't possibly wait that long. Not again.

"There's no need," she replied hurriedly, "I'll be going to the warehouse myself in a while. You're dismissed."

As soon as he was gone, she grabbed her jacket and walked out of the office, her head a haze of dread.

She bumped and brushed past so many, barely registering their grunts and curses. A familiar voice boomed high, somewhat bringing her back to ground,

"Eleanor, stop!" It was Mr Scott.

Somehow, he'd managed to catch sight of her going out and had his hand placed firmly on her shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going at this time?" his voice sounded high and chiding, making her whirl around. Hers was fierce and unapologetic,

"I have to go," she managed to huff out, still unable to keep her voice steady, "I need to find out."

"Find out wh-," he started confused, but realization dawned upon him and she saw a reflection of the same judgement, the same displeasure pass over his features that she'd grown so familiar with. But now it angered her beyond reason, every moment he held her was a second wasted, and she wanted to get out of there.

"At least let me call the guard to take with y-"

" _No_!" she bellowed, her temper risen to the brink. She knew she would come to regret her tone later, but right now she didn't care. Right now she had to get answers.

Roughly, she shrugged his hand off her shoulder and marched out of the tavern, not bothering to look back.

Her feet carried her across the street to the brothel, where her eyes set immediately on a pair who she knew were the ones who would either ease her mind or voice out the darkest thoughts that plagued her. Within a second, she'd strode up to one of them. She grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to face her,

"Where is he, Jack?"

His shadow was upon her in an instant. "Back off, cunt," she hissed, but Eleanor ignored her.

Jack raised a finger to signal to Anne and she stepped back, her fury and loathing all too evident still. She seethed at her, but Eleanor's eyes remained riveted on Jack's, waiting for a response.

He inspected her a while, garnering what seemed like amusement from her state, before he finally spoke,

"In the camp, with the medic," he said, cautiously removed her hands from his collar as he registered the look of relief washing over her, "His wounds needed tending, nothing too damaging. He's been back on his feet for a few days, but he bled out some upon landing, so..."

Her breathing was catching on a normal pace now, but she still had so many questions. Her features were still frantic, begging more, but she didn't want to stay.

She knew where she had to be.

Quickly nodding at him in gratitude, she stepped out of the brothel.

Before she could even allow this news to finally settle, her feet began running of their own accord and as fast as they could towards the Ranger camp. It was the only camp she'd grown quite accustomed to and she knew her way around it well.

But it was dark and the camp full, which meant passing through meant more danger and more jeering than she had the patience for right now. The camp indeed was occupied to the brink, every eye curiously fixed upon her as she strode past. Yet to her surprise, every pirate steered clear of her path, not as much as caring to mock her on her unwanted presence. Had her mind not been preoccupied with other priorities, she'd have found this stranger than she cared to admit right now.

Moments later, she'd located the medic tent and burst into it, not bothering to announce herself.

Not that she needed to.

It was just him in there, sprawled across the makeshift bed, his body a mess like she'd never set eyes upon before. That didn't stop him from giving her his usual smile as she walked up to his side.

She ran her finger tips across the fresh scars on his chest, registering the blood tinged knuckles and flesh wounds, before looking back to his face, her expression grim. Gulping slowly, she felt a foreign sensation creep inside her, filling her with a strange warmth and comfort.

Before any word could be spoken, she bent down and captured his mouth in hers, massaging its depths and pressing as close as she could get. He tasted of salt and blood and she savored all of it, taking more from him as he took from her.

Their lips always started out rough and urgent, tongues seeking immediate entrance, as though confirming this to be real and not imagined. As their passion soared and lungs burned, both fighting for breath yet reluctant to be the first to let go, their lips would give way to slow kisses, deliberate and terribly teasing.

As their pace slowed down this time, she sunk her teeth into his lower lip and sucked, sure this was the one bruise that'd give him pleasure, not pain. She felt his lips curl up into a smile against hers, only too eager to let her do with him as she pleased.

They lay there for a while, too lost in each other, relishing in this moment as though it'd been ages and not weeks since they were last together. Far too long for either's liking, but something neither would dare to admit openly.

Not that they ever felt the need to. These heady kisses, cherished touches, and the look in their eyes stood evidence enough for the both of them. They neither expected nor pressed for more.

A sudden ruffle in the tent averted their lips from each other and turning around, they discovered Mr. Morris, the Ranger medic, hovering near the entrance, eyes a mixture of horror and confusion.

"I-I apologize," he stammered, awkwardly clearing his throat and holding out a bundle of fresh bandages, "Just wanted to check on the dressing again."

"Dressing's _fine_ ," Charles growled at him, eyes shooting daggers, "I'll be out of your tent in a moment."

He raised a sharp brow at him, which Mr Morris took as a signal to flee.

As soon as he was gone, Charles sat upright, his features still holding the sting of annoyance at the interruption.

That changed when he met her eyes again, the irritation making way for something much gentler, much softer. He lightly brushed aside those strands of loose hair, which stood an utter mess owing to his hands ravaging through them just seconds before.

Holding her chin, he placed a tender kiss on her jaw. "I knew you'd come soon enough," he muttered against her skin.

"Soon enough?" she pulled away, question glazing in her eyes, "So you were just waiting here then?"

"More or less," he smirked, "You can blame Jack for this fucking idea. He had some wager going on...something about how long it'd take you to find me."

With that, he got up on his feet, pulling her up along with him.

"Well fuck him then," she replied, furious, "And fuck you too for playing along."

"Thought I'd let you look for me this time," he gathered her close, "Can't say I didn't enjoy it though, especially that last part," he added slyly, eyes resting on her lips.

Her cheeks flushed under his scrutiny but she kept her face stern. She noticed how easily he'd risen, without as much as a wince. The glaring wounds all over him suggested otherwise and she looked at him, a question still lingering and eyes more perplexed than ever,

"It still doesn't explain _this_ , Charles," she gestured to his blood tinged body, wounds gaping from every limb, half healed and menacing.

"This isn't all _my_ blood, Eleanor," he explained, his smile reassuring, "The wounds, yes, but even they've healed plenty over the past week."

His arm rested at her back, pulling her closer. She resisted against him, losing patience for his mind games, but it only made his hold tighter and stronger.

"What the fuck happened out there, Charles?" she demanded, her expression firm and rigid, one of the many she reserved for her business ventures, "The guard informed me that the Ranger lost men at sea?"

He sighed, finally giving in and noting the look of genuine worry as she regarded him,

"While we were chasing down the _Adelaide_ , following the route Mr Scott had laid out for us, the ship surrendered almost immediately to the black," he offered, "Most of the men were relieved it hadn't come down to fighting and soon enough we got on board. But as soon as we did - " his voice faltered, eyes bending down for the first time instead of looking directly at her, as though finding the right emotions to convey his thoughts.

"What, Charles?" Her voice was gentle.

His eyes met hers again, a fierce hardness and revulsion sparking within their depths that she'd only witnessed when he fought or killed,

"It wasn't just sugar and tobacco the ship carried, Eleanor. That was what we expected, what Mr Scott had told us we would find," he paused before adding, each word escaping through gritted teeth, his hatred complete,

"There were slaves in the hull. About thirty of them, shackled and almost dead."

Her heart melted instantly at this. She knew all too well what stormed in his mind, what rattled his senses, and though she wanted to voice out words, something, anything to offer some measure of comfort, she felt inept. There were no words that could express her concern for the horror he must have gone through, witnessing something he had barely escaped in his younger years, so raw and up close again.

Instead, she brought one hand up to his cheek, her thumb caressing it in gentle strokes. The other she laid across his oldest scar, hoping her touch could heal what her words could not.

"What did you do?" she asked softly, her eyes a pool of nervousness, almost afraid to hear his answer.

After all, nothing good ever came out his rage. She'd grown accustomed to it by now, accepting it as part of his brutal reality. There was no telling what Charles could accomplish if challenged, even less predictable if it came with a boiling fury.

"After we'd loaded the ship, Captain ordered us to leave. Didn't extend an offer to join the Ranger crew to any of the slaves or the prize crew for that matter," he huffed, "The crew couldn't afford more men, he said. _So_..." he paused, a grin creeping back into his features,

"I challenged him."

Her eyes widened, a frustrated sigh escaping her.

"It's called a mutiny," she corrected him, "I told you to wait for votes to be certain in your favor before doing something so wretchedly reckless."

"Well you weren't there to remind me," he retorted, "Besides, it seemed like a fucking good idea at that point. You know how long that smug bastard had been getting on the crew's nerves , and him doing _this_...Not even caring to offer them a safe passage to Nassau?" he grimaced, "This was simply something I couldn't abide. I knew I'd have men to back me up so I acted the only way I knew how to solve it."

He shrugged, "And look, here I am. Along with thirty strong men Nassau didn't have before."

She squinted, shaking her head, "But what about the Captain? Did he get voted out or..."

Her sentence was barely complete when the full picture of the event formed in her mind, knowing all too well voting was not how Charles got things done. She suspected that had never been his intention all along, something he just pretended to like in theory to pacify her. To make it easy for her to bid him farewell every time he left for sea, not afraid of knowing just how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted.

But now, in this moment, she realized just how far he'd gone.

It didn't alarm her, there was a curious acceptance as though she had a feeling all along he was capable of this. Something she knew to be true deep down in her heart. With how he was with her, cautious and ever tender, it never failed to shock her how much she could underestimate him in matters outside of them. She was his only exception, and the boy otherwise was capable of committing terrible things to just about anyone. This much she felt keenly, now more than ever.

"You killed him," she whispered, voice surprisingly steady.

"Him and three others, " he admitted without blinking an eye, "Apparently, I wasn't the only one planning on cutting the bastard. As soon as I'd bashed his skull in, they started challenging me, one by one," he raised a brow, mouth twitching into a smirk,

"Reckon nobody had the patience to wait till shore to sort this out. Out there at sea, it was fucking chaos."

"One you started," she exhaled heavily, "How did it end?"

"Well, after I was done with the contenders is when the crew lost it. Quartermaster and some of his loyal men attacked our side, killing a few of us. Anne killed him with a single blow, and soon after the rest of them gave up arms. First thing we did was track down the _Adelaide_ again, and offered safe passage to the thirty men in the hull."

"What about the prize crew?" she asked cautiously, already certain of his response.

"Burned the goddamn ship," his eyes hardened again, the quick rage returning, "Let it's fate be a lesson to the rest of it's kind."

Her mind raced to the implications of what this meant for their trade, how the British and French would take to one of their strongest vessels burning and sinking into the depths of the ocean. All because of the wrath of _one pirate_. Security would tighten along those waters, creating further nuisance in forming new routes to manage around this setback, all the while hoping and praying that this ship that Charles sank would not act as the catalyst for the British to send their Royal Navy ever closer to Nassau.

Had it been a usual cargo ship, she'd give him a piece of her mind. Probably not talk to him for days to come.

But she could feel his fists clench at her back, restraining emotion and expressing more clearly just how much this incident had shook him than he could ever voice out.

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against his.

"There's only one reason the men would go to these lengths. Track the _Adelaide_ again, free those slaves. Because you wanted them to," she whispered, her voice expectant,

"Because you _ordered_ them."

She felt him brush the tip of his nose lightly against hers, raising her head slightly so that he could look at her,

"She's mine now, Eleanor," he acknowledged finally, "Crew voted me Captain right after the mutiny ended," his mouth curled into a wicked smile before adding,

"Easy choice considering I'd killed just about everyone else who felt up to task."

Despite herself, she discovered a smile had crept onto her features as well. She shook her head, her face a combination of relief and wonder.

Surely his story should horrify her? Force her to push him away and never look back? A recount of such violence and brutality should certainly not be acceptable to anyone? She should free herself of his restraining arms and walk away, placing him in memory as a mistake and a lesson Mr Scott had warned her about so fervently.

But as she stood transfixed, she realized how untrue the whispers on the island were about them. About her having a hold on him like nobody else could, of how he could never get enough of her. They mocked him, warned him that it wouldn't last, that he was a nothing and she far above his reach. Yet in this moment, the rumor felt like a half truth. For if she couldn't walk away from him now, she couldn't fathom that she ever could. She wasn't the only one who'd cast a spell after all.

It didn't matter if he'd killed four or all of them. He could have murdered his whole damn crew for all she cared, if it meant he still got back. As much as he was capable of such dark deeds, was she not equally guilty for having the heart to not just accept them, but forgive them? In many ways she wondered if he was better than her, open and honest about what he did, no matter how gruesome. Here he was recounting this tale of horror to every last detail, not caring for judgement in her eyes or anyone else's, just laying himself bare, with no false promises or pretense to be anything he wasn't.

She on the other hand, couldn't as much as dare voice out how his actions would pose _no difference_ to what she valued between them, when they ought to serve as the very premise of her ending everything with him. Perhaps it was her own darkness that made her so trusting of his.

So when, instead of walking away or offering a chiding remark at his actions, she locked her lips with his in response, even he seemed taken aback. She couldn't recognize what it was that she felt so keenly kissing him, while feeling his lips move against hers, as eagerly, as hungrily. There was relief, sure, but something warm was coiling and clawing at her insides, making her heart race faster, drawing color to her skin wherever he touched.

Pulling back eventually, she murmured,

"Hardly a time to get cocky, I'd say. _Especially_ ," she added, her brow raising as if in warning, "Considering you won't have a favorable person to deal your cargo to anymore."

His intense, blue eyes squinted at her questioningly, possibly reaching the same the conclusion just as she spoke,

"Father left about a week ago, leaving no instructions for how long. Considering how things were getting between us, I imagine a long time. Which means," her face lit up, almost fit to bursting with triumph, "he left _me_ in charge."

"Is that so?" he regarded her endearingly, pride clearly reflected on his features, "And what does Mr Scott have to say about this...arrangement."

"Well I've been working under him for years now, haven't I? I told father he leaves me in charge of here completely or I'm going with him. And knowing him, he obviously accepted the lesser of the two evils," she let out a laugh.

"As for Mr Scott, the only _arrangement_ he takes issue with," she pecked his lips lightly, "Is this one. But seeing as nothing can ever be done about it, I'd say he'll just have to get used to it."

"Not after hearing what happened on the _Ranger_ he won't," he scoffed, "Although," he added pausing, "Can't say I blame him."

 _Neither of us can_ , she thought. After all, it was his words that carried the most sense and logic in this situation, when both she and Charles were clearly bent upon defying both.

Charles was the only one privy to the intimate details of the complicated relationship she shared with her father. Whenever she talked of him, mentioning Mr Scott followed soon after. For he was everything her father was not. Whether it was her stories that had helped Charles garner some respect for the man, or maybe something else about him entirely that he'd discovered oddly respectable, she could always rest assured that whatever ill Mr Scott wished upon Charles, he never reciprocated those feelings. Sure he could act smug about his feelings for her in front of him, a deliberate touch here, a knowing look there, but she believed it to be more out of amusement than spite.

"It's not just _him_ you should be worrying about now, is it?" she posed, every intention of getting on that one nerve that irked him most, "Now that you're the youngest Captain here, you'll no doubt have a lot to prove. Especially considering the _Ranger_ is currently no match for the _Walrus_."

Her mischievous bait all too obvious, he still decided to take it,

"Flint's been Captain for more than ten years, Eleanor," he looked at her, a resolve slowly forming in his expression, "He may run this place, but now that I've got the ship and the men I need, things are about to change here. The _only question is_ , " he said placing a finger under her chin, "Is who'll be getting those Guthrie leads. I do have thirty new men, if you care to take that into account," he added winking.

"I wouldn't get too confident if I were you," she brushed his finger aside, her expression assertive, "With Father gone, there's no knowing what I'll do. Best not fucking test me."

He coaxed her closer,

"If _I_ don't, who will?" he responded, desire itching from every angle of his features, eyes settling upon her lips.

Recognizing his hot gaze, she felt a familiar throbbing rising within her. Somehow, she managed to pull back slightly, her eyes roving over him in concern,

"You're badly injured, Charles. _This_..." she offered, the need and yearning in her eyes already betraying her words, "This can wait."

"Not tonight it can't," he returned, calloused hands already reaching and scooping her up in his arms.

She wrapped her legs firmly around his waist, ensnaring her fingers in his hair and showering his mouth with urgent kisses, as he led them outside the medic's tent to his own.

Every pair of pirate eyes fixed upon them as they walked through camp to the Captain's tent, too lost in each other to care or even realize that they had an audience.

Once more, no jeering or cussing followed her. Only begrudging silence as their new Captain claimed and took his most treasured prize inside his tent. Not a single word of reproach or scorn was uttered within hearing that night, nor any night that followed hence.

Not when the memory of their new Captain sucking the life out of four of their traitor brothers was so fresh.

One of them, who'd witnessed this spectacle in the camp, turned to Mr Morris, a satisfied smirk plastered across his face and hands heavy with fresh coin from the wager,

"Well, is it safe _now_ for good ol' Jack to get his cut examined in your fucking tent?" the man sneered.

"It would seem so," the medic sighed, watching the flaps of the Captain's tent close, "Come along now, quartermaster. I don't have all night."


End file.
